


in my end, you are my beginning

by cinderstoashes



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (I wonder who that could POSSIBLY be), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Codependency, Don't say I didn't warn you, Dream Smp, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, God Complex, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Multi, Mythology References, Sapnap is part Blaze because I said so, god!dream, no beta we die like schlatt, really when I say there's angst I mean it, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29626842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderstoashes/pseuds/cinderstoashes
Summary: George’s voice is hollow. “He told me I’d always been good with words. He asked me to keep his safe.” Sapnap smooths his hands over the surface of the leather bound book that sits between them. He wants to reach out, but George isn’t familiar to him anymore. He isn’t familiar to himself, anymore.Sapnap and George try to heal after Dream’s imprisonment.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just pretend that the three canon lives vs respawning thing makes sense, okay?
> 
> This fic is honestly just an excuse for me to write copious amounts of Dream Team angst. My original draft of this was mostly centered around just Dream and George, but I'm dragging Sapnap into this because c!Sapnap doesn't get enough appreciation~
> 
> The whole god!Dream concept comes from [technoblacle's](https://technoblacle.tumblr.com/) god and king au! Check out their stuff, they're truly a genius~
> 
> All you really need to know to read is that Sapnap is part blaze cuz why not, George and Dream were already together before Dream's imprisonment, and the chapters will alternate between Sapnap and George's POV. So George's chapters will have more dnf in them, as well as more specific god and king themes.
> 
> Enjoy~!

If he’d known that this memory would haunt him, he’d have made the choice to forget it a long time ago. Not that he _can_.

He sees it in fragments of moments shared between the three of them, fleeting and faint and hard to focus on, but when he takes a step back he sees it a bit more clearly. There are flashes of Dream reaching a hand out to help Sapnap climb a tree, flashes of George laughing at a joke Sapnap makes while they’re rationing supplies for potions, flashes of Sapnap jumping onto Dream’s back and the two of them tumbling down a hill.

There’s a specific memory of their childhood that Sapnap dreams of now. The three of them had stumbled into a cave of zombies, and maybe if they’d been younger they would’ve been more scared, but they’d been at a point when they laughed with each other as they ran back to their base to get stronger weapons.

 _“C’mon!”_ Dream yells back at Sapnap from ten feet ahead. He’s always been the fastest of them. _“There aren’t any babies, we’ll be fine!”_

 _“That sounds really weird out of context!”_ Sapnap yells at him, and Dream slows his running for a second so they can catch up. 

They run through a swamp, the last landmark before they reach their base. Sapnap and George keep poking fun at each other the entire time.

When Dream stops running alongside them, they notice immediately.

Sapnap slows and turns to look at Dream. _“Dream?”_ His friend is standing in ankle-deep water as he looks under the vines that fall from one of the trees. Dream takes a step forward, and then he’s mostly hidden by the vines. 

Sapnap looks to George, who is staring at Dream with an expressionless face. Sapnap nervously turns back to Dream and steps under the tree as well.

The base of the tree is mostly roots and twigs, curled along the trunk like a bird’s nest. But it’s a lot bigger than a bird’s nest, and when Sapnap looks, he sees a swaddle of blankets nestled into it.

Then he hears the soft ‘coo’ of an infant.

The baby lies in the roots of the tree and it looks like the tree is protecting the child. Sapnap stares at it for a moment, until Dream moves forward again. Sapnap looks at Dream instinctively, and when he looks back at the tree, the roots have become a cardboard box.

 _“Stop,”_ he tells Dream. This didn’t happen in this memory. They never found a child in a box. This isn’t right— _“Dream, stop.”_

The trees around him fade to dark stone piled around them. Bodies push between them, a sword in Sapnap’s hand and a sharp hiss of _Get away from them_. Dream’s axe is bloody and his eyes are full of hatred as red dahlias sprout from between the cracks in the floor.

Sapnap’s eyes open and the nightmare fades.

The clock on the wall has been broken for weeks now, so he doesn’t know the exact time. But it’s still dark outside and he’d gone to bed just after sunset. It’s likely early in the morning, sometime after midnight.

He tries to close his eyes to fall asleep again, but his throat is dry and there’s a light wheeze from his lungs every time he exhales. 

Nighttime has been one of the most dreaded periods of time these days. When the sun is up, it isn’t much better. He’s been hidden in the forest with George for weeks and they’ve taken just about every opportunity to avoid each other. Though he’s here _with_ him, George feels more like a ghost that lingers and can’t really leave. Despite the desperation to hide from George, the isolation that night brings is unwelcome.

Sapnap lets his eyes open. Water. He needs water. It takes him a bit of effort to lug the blanket off of himself and sit up. Even once he’s sitting, he stays still for a moment, trying to ease the ringing in his ears. 

It’s cold in his room. The fireplace has probably gone out by now. Though they aren’t in the snowy mountains and landscapes, it’s still winter, and the chill air won’t fade until spring. 

He finally lugs himself out of bed and walks down the hallway. The walls are bare and Sapnap keeps expecting someone to hang old weapons on the walls or badly taken photos or maps of areas they’ve explored.

But it’s only him and George here. Neither of them have tried _anything_ to make this place feel more like home.

He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. He weighs his options, before deciding to forgo sleeping for the time being and opts to sit at the kitchen island. There’s an unlit candle on the counter in front of him. Sapnap flicks his thumb and lights it, softly inhaling the scent of vanilla.

Sapnap stares at the flame for a moment. It doesn’t provide much light and provides even less warmth, but he’s always felt more comfortable around fire. It reminds him of when he was younger, before he’d met Dream and George, a lifetime that’s almost faded from his mind but still lingers in the corners of it. Sometimes, if he thinks about it hard enough, golden flames shine through his veins, burning through the skin of his arms and legs.

Behind him, George mumbles, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Sapnap turns to look at George. The skin under his eyes is dark and worn and a blanket is thrown over his shoulders. George tugs the sides of it around himself, clutching two corners above his heart. 

Sapnap slowly shakes his head. “Bad dreams.”

George nods.

The air feels _heavy_ , a thing weighing Sapnap down, and he doesn’t have the strength to lift himself up through it. “I was thinking I should get more firewood in the morning. We’re running low.”

“Okay.”

Sapnap looks George over, eyes fixing over the lingering flush on George’s cheeks, like he’d been _very_ cold. “Were you outside?” he finally asks George.

He doesn’t say anything immediately, but George’s shoulders tense, and he doesn’t meet Sapnap’s eyes.

“You should try to rest,” Sapnap tells George softly.

George’s eyes flicker to him for a second before hastily looking away. “All I do is sleep,” he mutters. He steps towards the counter and sits on the stool next to Sapnap. It’s the most they’ve spoken to each other since Dream entered the prison.

“Unconsciousness prompted by exhaustion isn’t the same as sleep,” Sapnap says. Again, George is silent. Sapnap’s right after all. George has developed a habit of staying awake until he has no choice but to sleep. Sometimes he’ll sleep for an entire day and a little bit more.

Sapnap has a feeling that something else _makes_ George sleep, when that happens. But Dream is in prison so Sapnap can’t exactly confront him and ask.

“I’m gonna head back to bed,” Sapnap mutters half-heartedly. George nods, and Sapnap leaves.

The second he’s out of the kitchen and out of sight, he stops and leans against the wall. His head makes a light thud as he rests it against the wall, and he takes a shaky breath. It used to be three of them and they all knew where they stood with each other. 

Dream is gone now, and it fucking _hurts_ to mourn someone who’s still alive.

But even though Dream is the one locked up, it feels like Sapnap is mourning George too, sometimes. 

Sapnap crawls back into his bed and doesn’t fall back asleep. When he gives up and gets up once the sun has risen, George is asleep. Sapnap leaves the house, gathers firewood, makes dinner, and George sleeps through it all.

 _“Just the dangerous stuff,”_ Dream told him once. _“Just the things that endanger his life. Then I’ll wake him up.”_

Sapnap stands next to the couch, looking down at George’s sleeping form. He wonders if Dream’s still doing this, still changing things, still molding this world to protect George. 

If it is Dream, somehow, Sapnap can’t even really say he blames him. He’d do it too, even if he can barely look at George without feeling like he’s looking at a stranger.

_“As long as he’s safe, none of it matters.”_

Sapnap pulls a blanket over George's shoulders and leaves the room.

* * *

Breakfast is just some mushroom stew that neither of them really _want_ to eat, but the ingredients have been occupying too much space for too long, and they might as well get rid of them now.

“You should leave the house,” Sapnap says as they sit at the table, eating.

George moves the spoon around in his bowl. “I leave,” he says, “I go for walks sometimes.”

“Well yeah, but,” Sapnap takes a second to think of how to phrase it, “I was thinking you should go into town or something. I’m planning on stopping by today.”

“What for?”

Sapnap hesitates before saying, “Karl. I wanted to check up on him.” George says nothing, so Sapnap continues. “It doesn’t even have to be the kingdom, just a village or something. Some human contact could be good for you.”

George looks at him, and the coldness in his eyes is almost enough to make Sapnap flinch away. “Yeah,” George’s voice doesn’t feel all too friendly, “isolation isn’t all that good for people, I suppose.”

Sapnap closes his mouth. He knows what he’s just walked into. “George—”

“Have fun with Karl,” George rushes the words out and slides his chair back so that he can get up and leave. His bowl of mushroom stew has barely been touched. 

Sapnap leans back in his chair and thinks for a moment. He can’t even _blame_ George for resenting him. Sapnap had been the one to fight against Dream when he first got his hands on Tommy’s discs, and Tommy and Tubbo needed help getting them back. The lines of his loyalty had blurred after that, even when Tommy fished Mars out of the ocean for him, even when fire rained down on L’Manberg, even when Tommy and Tubbo said goodbye to everyone.

Despite it all, Sapnap had _been there_ that day. He’d pushed the boys behind him and hit Dream with a weapon they’d made together. He’d told Dream to stay away from them and had been with Sam when they dragged Dream to the prison.

George gets to hate him, even if Sapnap knows that Dream belongs there.

 _“If I can’t do it myself,”_ Dream’s words echo in his ears, _“protect him for me.”_

Sapnap had rolled his eyes when Dream said it. George could take care of himself, after all.

Now he stares at the uneaten stew and he’s starting to wonder what that even means. He isn’t sure what any of it does, anymore.

It’s almost noon when he starts walking to Karl’s library. Sapnap hasn’t seen Karl or Quackity in long enough that he’s wondering if they’re okay, but the last time they were all together, they made it clear that each of them had things that they needed to do that couldn’t involve the others. So Sapnap _shouldn’t_ be worrying.

He still does, though. 

It feels so foreign as he walks past Eret’s castle. He can almost see Quackity standing in front of the beacons, can almost feel the air of El Rapids.

He keeps walking.

Sapnap walks through all of the wars and the fighting and does his best not to think about any of it, but the violence claws at him. He hates how easily he can remember the patterns that bloodstains left across the ground. He hates how much of it had been at his hand.

The door to Karl’s library is closed. Sapnap knocks on the door, and no one answers.

“Karl?” he calls out softly. “It’s me, are you here?”

The thing is, he _knows_ Karl is here. He can hear movement inside. If Karl’s been truthful in his letters, he hasn’t left this library in enough time that Sapnap has reason to question if George is the only one destroying himself in isolation.

He waits outside for a bit longer. Eventually Sapnap leaves and returns with some golden apples wrapped and thrown into a bag so no one sees them. “I left some food for you,” he says, hoping Karl is listening even if he’s ignoring him. “If you need anything…”

Sapnap hates this. He fucking hates this _so much_ , but he tears himself away from the library door.

He doesn’t realize that he’s walked to the prison until he finds himself looking at the dark stone that builds the walls of it. He hasn’t been here since Dream was locked up.

Something tugs at his heart, like a string pulling him forward. Sapnap hates this piece of himself.

_“The three of us. It’ll always be the three of us.”_

Now it’s just Sapnap and George trying to mend the broken pieces of their friendship while Dream is locked inside of the prison.

The wind blows and Sapnap finds himself off balance, stumbling towards the prison. He doesn’t fall, but the wind pushes harder, and he has to brace himself to stop himself from stumbling again. The prison looms over him and the wind beckons.

How much is Dream still controlling this world? Sapnap had warned Dream what it would mean. He knew the dangers of immortality.

Once, someone told him stories of the gods, how they were cruel and cold and lacked anything human. They didn’t _feel_ like humans did. To them, mortals were like insects. The more the gods could do, the more damage they could cause, and the more humans chose to forget them.

Sapnap wishes he could forget Dream, sometimes. He wishes George could forget too.

He turns away from the prison. Even as the wind pushes against him, he digs his feet in and forces himself to stay away. Maybe he’ll talk to Sam about visiting the prison, but if that happens, it’ll be on _his_ terms, not Dream’s.

Before going home, Sapnap stops by Karl’s library again. The sack of apples has been brought inside. He pauses, debating whether he should knock and try to see Karl again, but decides against it.

Whatever’s going on with Karl, Sapnap has to trust he’ll be okay. Karl _has_ to be okay. If he isn’t…

Sapnap can’t take another loss.

It takes twice as long to walk home as it had taken to leave.

* * *

He can tell that George has been in the forest again, but he says nothing about it. George only ever spends time outside when he’s in the forest. If it’s the only daylight he’ll get, Sapnap will let him take it, because staying inside can’t be healthy even in the dead of winter.

“I’m not in a mood for dinner,” is all George tells him when Sapnap enters the kitchen.

Sapnap shrugs and turns to walk into the living room.

George stares at him. “ _You_ can still eat something.”

“I’m not hungry either.”

George scoffs, “So you were going to cook for me?”

 _Of course_ , Sapnap wants to say. But he doesn’t. “I wouldn’t mind it, if you were hungry. Did you eat earlier?”

He takes a second too long to answer. “Yeah.”

Sapnap doesn’t believe him for a second. But he just lies down across the length of the couch and stares at the ceiling. George is curled in a chair next to him and he goes so still that Sapnap wonders if he’s fallen asleep. 

The silence isn’t awkward, but it sure as hell isn’t comfortable. Sometimes it feels like there are so many things that Sapnap wants to say to George. Other times, it feels like there aren’t enough words to say it all. He wonders if the words exist in another language, maybe one he’s forgotten, or one George still knows. Sapnap doesn’t know how to even begin to approach the idea of it. 

With his luck, George is the one with all of the words, but he wouldn’t even use them if he had the ability. When he’s like this, George chooses silence over the option of conveying any emotion he might feel.

The last time George was like this, Dream promised to make him a king, one day.

 _“And why do you get to choose?”_ George had asked. Sapnap had looked between his two friends, silently asking Dream the same question.

Dream’s laugh had been so _gentle_ , so _careful_ , so fucking _convincing. “Because I am of divinity, obviously.”_

Sapnap is nearly asleep when George breaks the silence between them. “Do you think they would’ve killed him?”

Sapnap lets his head fall to the side so that he can look at George. George still hasn’t moved, his arms still hug his knees to his chest, and it’s then that Sapnap realizes how baggy his shirt looks on him now. “What do you mean?”

“The night he was arrested,” George elaborates. “You…you said Tommy almost didn’t do it. You told me that Tommy wondered if Dream was worth it, and they almost didn’t lock him up.”

“ _I_ almost didn’t lock him up,” Sapnap says, not holding back his words, “I didn’t want him dead but for a second I wondered if it was worth it to keep him alive.” He wishes he were more nurturing, more like Bad, who had always taken care of him and given him a semblance of hope. 

He’s not though. Even with George. 

George’s arms curl tighter around himself. Sapnap sees the strain of it in his hands, skin pulled taut over nerves and bones, more prominent now than they used to be. “Would you _really_ have let them kill him?”

“I would’ve done it myself.” The words make George flinch. Sapnap sits upright and looks George dead in the eyes, “I would’ve _had to_ , George. If he was telling us the truth, I was the _only one_ there that could’ve done it, if it came down to it.”

“I could’ve,” George mutters.

“Yeah, you could’ve,” Sapnap agrees, “but you wouldn’t have.”

George looks away, fidgeting under Sapnap’s gaze. He looks so _uncertain_ , and it makes Sapnap’s heart ache because George used to feel most comfortable when he was with Sapnap and Dream, and now he looks cornered. “It doesn’t even make _sense_ ,” George says, voice louder now and exasperated.

Sapnap shrugs. “I think it does,” he tells George. Then again, Sapnap had grown up being told stories by his people in the Nether, and then by Bad in his childhood home. Sapnap has always been the one who easily believed anything thrown at them. 

From portals leading to other dimensions to nations rising and falling to ghosts fading in rain, Sapnap’s always taken it as it is. And when Dream returned to them with an ethereal glow in his eyes and scars across his hands, Sapnap believed him when he told them he was immortal now.

“How could it make sense?” George asks. “Dream isn’t—he’s not _like_ us anymore.” He sounds strained, like it hurts to say, but he’s holding back the pain of it. “Gods don’t _die_.”

“Some do.” Sapnap looks down at his hands. His fingers are laced together the blazing glow of fire in his veins is becoming more and more prominent as the seconds pass. “Dream told us _how_.”

 _“To only be hurt at the hands of someone who loves you,”_ were Dream’s exact words. His eyes had been victorious as he said it. _“That leaves only two people that can kill me.”_

Dream had been so confident that Sapnap and George—the only two people in the _world_ who loved Dream enough to _kill_ him—never would. And then that confidence wavered, Dream pushed them away, ripped the crown from George’s head, and Sapnap didn’t see it coming until he saw Beckerson on the wall.

 _“I had to_ lose _everything to_ gain _everything.”_

Dream gained _nothing_ , in the end. _At the hands of someone who loves you._ If Tommy or Sam or Punz or any of them had tried to kill Dream in that bunker under the ground, they would’ve failed, and Dream would’ve fought back. 

“You wouldn’t have been able to do it either,” George says. Sapnap thinks to himself that George is probably right about that one. “You care about him just as much as I do.”

Sapnap’s laugh is sudden to _both_ of them, and it’s _bitter_. George looks at him and Sapnap just laughs again, sharp and finite. “Do I?” he asks George, and Sapnap hates the way his voice cracks, hates how much his eyes burn and his throat aches and his veins are glowing brighter now. “Do I, George? Because I put him _in there_!”

“Sapnap—” George cuts himself off when Sapnap stands.

“The three of us against the _world_ , George, that’s what he promised.” Sapnap’s voice is thick. Tears are prickling at his eyes but they don’t fall, his temperature is higher now and the tears evaporate the second they touch his skin. “He _promised_ , but he _left us_. He chose power. He got greedy. I locked him up, that was _me_.”

George looks so _small_ , still curled into the chair. His eyes full of anger when he looks up at Sapnap. 

It’s a thin line that Sapnap walks. But he charges forward. Sapnap is a lot of things, but he’s never been a coward. “Maybe I should’ve just killed him when I had the chance.”

“I’d never forgive you,” George says. He speaks too quickly for it to be a lie.

“Yeah, you probably wouldn't.” Outside, Sapnap can hear the wind pick up. “He asked me to protect you. I promised him I would. Even if it means he’s the one I’m protecting you from.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

_“He hates me.”_

For someone who Dream had dethroned, George sounds too certain that Dream wouldn’t hurt him. Dream _has_ hurt him. He’ll probably do it again.

Sapnap’s palms are burning. He looks down and sees that his nails are digging into his palms, small marks of red and irritated skin left behind once he pries his fingers open. The glow of his veins dies down as the skin on his hands eases.

“I think I’m gonna…go to my room, I guess.” It’s dark outside and Sapnap is _tired_. He wants to tell George to sleep too, but he isn’t sure how well George will respond to it.

Before Sapnap reaches the hallway, George softly calls out, “Sapnap?”

Sapnap stops, and turns. “Yeah?”

George appears to be wrestling with a thought, turning it over in his head, but he takes a shaky breath and looks at Sapnap. “Can you…can you stay with me?”

He hates how easy it is for George to pry Sapnap’s heart open. George almost never shows vulnerability. Not if he can help it. Sapnap’s always been weak for it, for George’s softest voice and guarded eyes. 

He _wants_ to. He used to, when they were young. George didn’t like the dark and back then, Sapnap would let his hands glow so that they had a light soft enough that nothing would see them in the dark. The thing is that they aren’t kids anymore. Sapnap wants to stay and keep George company, to sleep next to him like when they were kids, to know George the way he doesn’t anymore.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sapnap says.

George’s lips press together tightly.

“George,” Sapnap says, not as angry as his earlier words, and he tries his best to match the smallness of George’s tone when he insisted that Dream wouldn’t hurt him, “why did you break one of the blocks at the prison?”

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t _need_ to.

“…Goodnight, George,” Sapnap whispers.

Once again, Sapnap doesn’t sleep through the night. He wakes up for water, and when he goes into the kitchen, George has crawled onto the kitchen island and is curled up on top of it, asleep.

Sapnap wonders if _he’s_ the one punishing George, or if George is doing it to himself.

Maybe they’re both doing it. Maybe they’re both horrible.

* * *

Later that week, Sapnap visits the prison.

In hindsight, it’s a horrible idea. Sapnap isn’t anywhere near prepared for it. It’s too sudden, too fast, and he wasn’t _ready_ to see Dream again. 

Sapnap can’t shake the idea that Dream is manipulating him. But he plays Dream’s fucking game. He reads his book and delivers his message. Sapnap can’t forget the fear in Tubbo’s eyes. He also can’t forget the happiness in Dream’s.

Part of it feels fake, like something Sapnap had imagined. His past memories of Dream are too tangled with the god he had become.

Sapnap looks back at the prison, maybe resentfully, maybe longingly.

_How fitting is it that I have to die to reach you?_

When he was in there, he almost told Dream about the stunt George had pulled, breaking one of the blocks of the prison walls. Sapnap had decided against it. He isn’t sure how Dream would react hearing anything about George other than a promise that Sapnap will talk to George about visiting.

If George visits Dream, maybe things will change. Sapnap just doesn’t know for who, or whether that would even be a good thing. 

Sapnap and George have gone back to barely speaking. The past few days, George leaves the room every time Sapnap walks in. So when Sapnap walks in and leans against the doorway of George’s room, and George doesn’t leave, he thinks of it as progress.

“I visited him in the prison,” Sapnap starts with.

George is reading something on his bed. He looks up at Sapnap, closing his book after putting a scrap of paper in it as a bookmark. “You did?”

Sapnap nods. “Do you wanna know how he’s doing?”

The book is gently placed down on the mattress, but George doesn’t stop touching it. He picks at the corners of the pages. “I…” he trails off. “No.”

Sapnap nods. The air between them is rigid. “He wants to see you.”

Part of Sapnap regrets saying it. He doesn’t know how George will react to it, especially _now_. He only regrets it more when George asks in a hopeful and trembling voice, “Really?”

George isn’t looking at him. Sapnap considers it a good thing, because if George looked at him right now, Sapnap might just start crying. “Yeah. I told him I’d talk to you about it.”

He turns his head further away from Sapnap. Sapnap watches George’s profile as his lips part like he’s about to say something, but then they close again, and George just pulls his blankets over his legs.

Sapnap pushes off of the doorframe. “I’ll get the fire going,” he mutters. He shuts the door behind him.

Just before he walks away, he pauses. A few seconds later, there’s a loud _thump_ from the other side of the door, and it sounds an awful lot like a book being thrown at the wall.

He walks away anyways.

Even when he reaches the living room, he doesn't start a fire. He should. It's cold inside. There's still heat that clings to the walls, but it's fading, and Sapnap can barely keep himself warm. George can't be faring any better. But before Sapnap moves to lug the firewood into the fireplace, something catches his eye.

At the windowsill, despite it still being winter, a pink camellia blooms in the unused planter box. The soil is covered in a thin layer of ice that the stem of the camellia breaks through in order to grow. 

Sapnap storms outside, plucks the flower free of the stem, and throws it to the ground before stomping on it. 

Another flower immediately grows. It leans towards the inside of the house. Towards George.

Sapnap tears it out again. When it happens again, he pulls the planter box away from the window and smashes it against the ground. And when the flower continues to grow in front of him, he burns it.

George doesn’t leave his room for three days after that.

Sapnap wishes he’d killed Dream when he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap and George being the only ones that can kill Dream is _not_ canon to the SMP, it's just my own personal headcanon since I like concepts of immortality that come with weakness.
> 
> I don't wanna give a definite date for the next chapter, but I'll probably be updating within a week~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proofread, enjoy the pain~

Dream promises to make him a king.

He makes this promise more than once. The first time, they’ve barely known each other for a few weeks, and Dream tells him that he’d look good in a crown.

 _“When we’re older,”_ Dream says. _“You’ll be the greatest of kings.”_

Sapnap sits up in his cot. They’re in the forest, having made a quick camp under the canopy of trees. _“He’d drive the economy to ruin in like a week.”_

Dream laughs. George doesn’t even care that it’s at his expense. He’s just glad to _know_ them.

The campfire has already died and the embers glow in the darkness, but it’s enough that George can see Dream’s face across the dying fire. Dream is lying on his side and he’s looking right back at George. Yellow glows against his skin and George grins at him. _“What makes you think I could be a king?”_

Sapnap scoffs. _“He’s lost it. Your head would look stupid with a crown, anyways.”_

 _“He’d look_ great _with a crown,”_ Dream tells Sapnap, and Sapnap makes a noise of disgust.

When Dream looks back at George and the embers flicker for a second. Despite being separated by the campfire, George can see the amusement in Dream’s eyes, the excitement that’s always been so contagious to him. _“Dream?”_

Dream blinks once, and his smile is soft, _“I just think you’d be a great leader.”_

The compliment makes something inside of him flutter. He can’t give it a name, though. Through the sounds of owls in the distance and the wind blowing through the leaves, it should be easy to hear his surroundings. But his heartbeat is in his ears and he can’t do it easily. _“Maybe you’re trying to get me killed,”_ George laughs, _“a lot of people hate kings.”_

_“I’d protect you.”_

George feels _warm_ , despite the lack of heat emitting from the near extinguished campfire. He doesn’t quite know why.

 _“Hey wait, I’d protect you too!”_ Sapnap cuts in.

George rolls his eyes. _“You’d be the worst knight.”_

_“I think I’d be more like a bodyguard or something. Dream can be your knight.”_

_“What, like a knight in shining armor?”_ Dream asks.

Sapnap flicks a pebble at Dream. _“You said it, not me.”_

George is taken aback by his own laugh. He turns onto his back and tries to stop the laughter from escaping him, but then Sapnap and Dream are also laughing, and it isn't even that _funny_ , but it doesn’t _need to be._

They talk about preparing for the Nether tomorrow. The three of them have been meaning to go for a while now, mostly stopped by the uncertainty Sapnap’s been facing about returning to his old home. _And_ the fact that the main thing they need is blaze rods, which requires killing blaze, which means that Sapnap won’t be present.

 _“We don’t have to do it,”_ Dream tells Sapnap. _“I mean like, if you don’t want us to, we won’t. You’re worth more than potions.”_

George agrees with everything he has. He’d give everything for Sapnap, even if he says otherwise. And if they need potions _that_ badly, he’s more than willing to steal the supplies from others.

Sapnap smiles at Dream, but it’s faint, _“I’m only_ part _blaze. I don’t care.”_

They talk for a little bit longer—mostly Dream and George making sure that Sapnap is okay—and then they go quiet.

The fire has died now. The moonlight and starlight are _just_ enough that George can see the rise of smoke that lingers from the campfire. It’s pale, and _would_ be transparent, but it’s not bright enough that Dream’s face is clear to him anymore.

But it doesn’t need to be. George has studied Dream’s face enough that he can picture it perfectly as he closes his eyes. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s in his room, it’s cold and bright and the harsh light of the day pours through the parted curtains. He’s _not_ lying down next to a dead campfire. Dream _isn’t_ across from him, tucked under blankets, an arm resting on George’s waist. Dream isn’t _anywhere._

Except for the fact that he _is._

George pulls the blanket over his head so the light goes away, and then he goes back to sleep.

He isn’t sure what time it is when he finally gets out of bed, only that it’s already late in the evening. Sapnap’s clearly been busy all day. The food’s all been restocked, the floor’s been mopped, and when George looks out the window he can see that Sapnap’s even cleaned up the yard. 

Right now, Sapnap is moving some of the chairs around, and the couch is already pushed against a different wall. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking around in judgement.

George almost laughs at it. “Since when do you dabble in interior design?”

Sapnap jumps a little, turning to look at George. “Shit, you’re quiet when you want to be.”

George smiles for a second. He goes to sit on one of the chairs that Sapnap has moved.

“Oi, asshole,” Sapnap narrows his eyes at George, “I was about to move that next. It’s too far from the table.”

That makes George pause. “We don’t _have_ a table in this room.”

“I’m working on it, okay?”

It’s almost surreal, the way Sapnap’s face is so concentrated on rearranging the furniture. When they’d first gotten here, they’d just put things wherever they fit, because moving here had been more of a thing of convenience and caution. George has had a few homes throughout his life. He wonders if this one can start to feel more personal.

While Sapnap moves the couch again, George looks at the frame surrounding the window that cuts through the front wall of the house. The trim is a muted gray and feels so _bland_.

A shade or two lighter, and it might look like the white hood and cloak Dream was wearing the last time George saw him. 

“We should paint this room,” George tells Sapnap. Sapnap looks at him. “I don’t really like any of these colors.”

Sapnap looks around at the beige walls and off-white crown around the room. The paint that’s already there is chipping off and the backsplash of the kitchen counters is still covered with wallpaper.

“Yeah this house is pretty old,” Sapnap agrees. He shrugs. “I’m down for some renovations. We’d have to move that armoire though,” he gestures to the wooden piece in the corner of the room that had been there from the previous occupants of the house. Sapnap and George have mostly used it for storage.

“It’s _heavy_ ,” George points out.

“We just have to take everything out. I’ve been throwing useless stuff in there.”

George looks around the room. “I’ll help you with that. Oh,” he stands and goes to the kitchen. The floor plan between the kitchen, dining room, and living room is very open, so Sapnap can see him without following him. “Remember Quackity’s old place? I liked the tile they had on the wall, like behind the sink and stove.”

“George, _neither_ of us know how to do tile. We aren’t builders.”

“We can _try_ ,” George insists. He knows that he and Sapnap have always been fighters more than anything else. George’s hands have started to lose their calluses, but he knows the skin of Sapnap’s hands is still thick and worn. Sapnap still goes out and fights every day after all.

Sapnap shrugs, “If you want, we can figure it out.”

_We._

It makes George happier than it should, to hear Sapnap say that. It wasn’t _just_ Dream that he lost.

“What color do you think we should do?” Sapnap asks.

George hums. “Blue? Like a light shade. Something soft.”

“We can do that. Maybe a different color for the kitchen too, for some contrast.”

“You can pick out whatever. I don’t spend much time in the kitchen anyways.”

Sapnap grins at him, “Unless you’re sleeping on the counter.”

George groans and rubs his face with his hand. “Oh _shut up_ about that, I was _tired_.” He was, really. And they both know that George was having another sleeping spell, when nothing woke him up even if he wanted to be awake, but neither of them bring it up. Bringing it up means bringing _Dream_ up, and every conversation they have about Dream ends badly for them.

So George is grateful that Sapnap doesn’t bring it up either. “You sleep more than you’re _awake_ , how are you ever tired?”

“I’m aging, Sapnap,” George dares to attempt humor. They used to laugh all the time, together. “Look how thin I am now,” he holds his arms out in front of him in mimicry of the zombies hiding in the darkness, and he knows his arms look _ridiculous_ because the sweater he’s wearing is very baggy and the sleeves are long enough to cover the tips of his fingers. “I’m _decaying_.”

Sapnap bursts into laughter. His shoulders hunch over and shake as he laughs into his hand. “Damn it, George,” he gasps, and then George laughs too, “you’re _barely_ older than me.”

And George knows that he’s young in the grand scheme of things, but it just makes them both laugh harder, and George doesn’t feel so _tired_ now.

Sapnap is still chuckling as he flops onto the couch. “Where are we even gonna get paint?”

“I don’t know,” George says.

“I can ask Sam,” Sapnap says, “he’s doing some construction stuff anyways.”

The smile freezes on George’s face, and Sapnap frowns and turns away from George. The moment is over. 

_“You’d be a good king.”_

But George can’t be neutral to this. Not Sam. Not the prison.

George gets up from the chair. “I’m gonna go outside, um…” he trails off for a second, “just let me know if you leave to get paint or whatever.”

“George—” Sapnap reaches out to grab George’s hand, but pulls back at the last second. Part of George wishes that Sapnap had just done it. He isn’t _fragile_ , or _broken_. Unfortunately, Sapnap has always been better at reading emotions better than George has. George would argue that he knows Sapnap and Dream well enough, but Sapnap has always known him _better_.

If Sapnap keeps retreating like this, George wonders what’s wrong with him that he doesn’t see, and that Sapnap clearly does. 

George and Sapnap stare at each other for a few seconds. When it’s clear that Sapnap isn’t going to speak, George does. “Why did you lock him up?”

George watches the way that Sapnap’s eyes harden and his fingers twitch like he’s about to clench his fists. Sapnap’s lips are tightly pressed together. 

“You didn’t have to,” George continues. “He had _armor_ , he had _weapons_ , I know he couldn’t have fought everyone at once but if you had helped him then the two of you could’ve done it.”

“Are you _serious_?” Sapnap snaps. “Did you want me to just distract them so he could get away?”

“No! But he’s our best friend!”

“He _was_ ,” Sapnap’s voice is like a bite and twice as painful. “Then he tried to fucking murder a _kid_. And hell knows what else he did to them, especially Tommy.”

George grits his teeth, “We don’t know that he did anything! When did Tommy even say that he did something?”

Sapnap groans, frustrated, “He doesn’t have to say anything, if you just looked at him, you’d see it in his fucking eyes, George.”

“Dream wouldn’t do anything bad without a good reason.”

Sapnap looks George over, and for a second, George sees bitterness flash through his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure he had a pretty good reason.”

There’s something hidden in Sapnap’s words that George can’t decode. It’s ugly, rotten, and deadly. He isn’t sure he’ll like the answer if he tries to figure it out. “What are you talking about?”

Sapnap closes his eyes for a second, and when they open, he’s looking away. “Nothing. Whatever. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like _nothing_ ,” George prods. “Sapnap I don’t know what he told you or what he did, but he only ever wanted to protect us.”

“Does that mean I should have _died_ for him, George?”

The worst part is that there’s no regret in Sapnap’s eyes or on his face. Or maybe the worst part is that George knows he’s right. Even if he won’t say it.

George pushes past Sapnap. “Fuck you,” he hisses. Sapnap stays motionless. “I fucking _hate you_.” George pours every bit of anger into his words. Sapnap just looks numb to it. 

He walks out the front door and slams it shut behind him.

* * *

After Eret is dethroned, Dream actually does it. He’s the one who puts the crown on George’s head. King George—just like Dream had promised. 

_“A king’s time as a ruler rises and falls like the sun.”_

The sun is still out when George leaves the house, but only barely. George doesn’t wander far. He doesn’t even leave the yard. He finds the pile of uncut logs meant for the fireplace and sits on one of them stubbornly.

It doesn’t take long for the sun to start its descent beneath the horizon, and then George is left in relative darkness. The temperature drops with the light and George thinks about going back inside to get a coat or something, but doesn’t.

He wishes it weren’t so _easy_ to get angry at Sapnap. But it is. George doesn’t really _hate_ him, but he can’t ever forget that Sapnap was there that day while George _wasn’t_ , and maybe if George had been there to fight alongside Dream, Sapnap would’ve stood next to them.

He can’t say that Sapnap choosing Dream would have _definitely_ changed the outcome of things. That day wasn’t the first time Sapnap had chosen something over Dream, after all. Arguably, Dream’s fate was sealed the day Sapnap followed him out of the palace.

The night Wilbur dies, George and Sapnap are together in the palace, sitting next to each other at one of the windows.

 _“Who are you loyal to?”_ George asks after a period of time.

 _“That’s a heavy question,”_ Sapnap responds. _“I’m loyal to many things.”_

He glances at Sapnap out of the corner of his eye. _“Are you loyal to Dream?”_

He doesn’t think Sapnap is going to respond until he softly says, _“Not before you.”_

Once, Sapnap would’ve answered that question with an absolute _yes_. George can’t pinpoint the exact moment that Sapnap’s loyalties started to shift. Neither can he pinpoint when Dream’s descent into madness began. All he knows is that he didn’t notice it until he’d already become a god.

Sapnap saw it sooner. He saw it, and he fought against it. He chose two terrified children over his best friend. He’d weighed the options and made a choice. But George didn’t have to. He wasn’t _there_. He didn’t have to make the same choice that Sapnap made.

George had been asleep that day.

He knows exactly why. It’s one of the few things he can’t forgive Dream for.

With a gust of wind, George shivers. It takes him a few minutes to realize that the weather feels less cold now than it did when he first came outside. 

Maybe part of the reason that George can’t stop thinking about Dream is that he’s _everywhere_. He’s in the flowers that bloom even as the rest of the plants die. He’s in the wind, in the water, in the fog of the windows, in the songs the birds sing.

Dream is locked behind walls and George can’t _reach_ him. But his presence is everywhere. In the brief time he’s been a god, he’s changed their world enough that George finds it difficult to believe that the world was anything other than Dream’s.

In the silence, George whispers, “Can you hear me?”

He’s going crazy. Even if Dream is somehow watching him, there’s no response he could possibly give.

“I don’t know what to do,” George whispers again.

A strong gust of wind blows right next to George, and then a stick flies into the front door and makes a loud _thwack_ as it hits spruce.

George stares at it for a second. “I’m not going inside,” he says. 

He’s definitely delusional at this point.

Another stick hits the door, and then it starts to rain.

George hadn’t even noticed that the weather has warmed enough that it’s raining instead of snowing. It isn’t _hot_ by any means, George is still cold and the rain makes him even colder, but it’s a noticeable change in temperature.

George turns his head skyward and glares at the clouds above him that seem to center only on the area around the house. The sky looks clear the rest of the way around.

“You’re such an idiot,” George tells the sky. He isn’t sure if his own voice is pissed off or fond. He stands up from the log he’d been sitting on, then stares at it for a moment. George looks back up at the sky. “You ruined the firewood.”

The sky, thankfully, does not verbally respond.

He’s practically drenched when he goes back inside. Sapnap is in the living room and very quickly goes to his feet when George enters. He already has a blanket in his hands and wraps it around George’s shoulders.

“Any longer and I would’ve gone out there and carried you in,” Sapnap mutters as he tries to dry George’s damp hair. George notices the way Sapnap’s veins are glowing lightly. The glow even reaches his eyes, strands of bronze boring through a careful gaze.

“I’m fine,” George tries, but it’s the wrong thing to say.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia, you’re not _fine_. I get that I’m like a personal heater but you never cuddle with me anyways so what good does that do?”

George almost says something about it being Dream’s fault. But he doesn’t.

Sapnap wraps another blanket around him and sits him down on the couch. “I can get something warm for you to eat,” he tells George, “or drink, if you’re not hungry. But you should have something.”

“Sapnap?”

Maybe Sapnap doesn’t hear him, but he continues as he fluffs up a pillow for George to lean on, “There’s still some dry wood inside, if you’re cold.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Sapnap slowly stops when George speaks. He looks at him, and George clutches the blanket tighter to his chest. “I was rude, earlier.”

Sapnap takes a deep breath, “Well, I wasn’t perfect either.”

“Don’t do that,” George tells him. “I’ve just been _horrid_ lately.”

Sapnap snorts. “You can say that again.” He moves up to sit on the couch, and George lifts his legs up so that he can rest them on Sapnap’s lap, like they used to sit all the time. Back then, Dream would be sitting behind George, George resting his back against Dream’s chest. Dream liked being able to wrap his arms around George.

 _“You’re so small,”_ Dream would laugh against his neck as his arms tightened around George’s shoulders.

“Can I ask you something?” George says.

Sapnap nods.

“After you visited him,” George starts, and Sapnap’s expression tenses, “you asked me if I…um, wanted to know how he’s doing.” 

He doesn’t finish asking. He doesn’t need to. Sapnap leans back against the couch, resting his head on the cushions behind him so that he’s looking straight up at the ceiling. “He isn’t really talking,” Sapnap starts with. He’s tapping a finger against George’s leg. “He wrote in a book to talk to me. That’s all he has in his cell, really. Books. And a clock. But he keeps throwing the clock into lava. I had to ask Sam to give him another one.”

George stares at his lap.

“Maybe you should visit him,” Sapnap says.

“I can’t.” George’s voice is strained. 

“Why?”

George thinks of Dream’s most wicked smile, the way his hands looked when he opened a leather book on the table in front of them. _“This, this is it, George. This, this, and this.”_

“He showed me,” George says after a moment of nothing. Sapnap pulls his head up to look at George. George’s throat tightens, and he clears his throat quickly. “He showed me his plans for the prison. The other cells aren’t _awful_ , but the maximum security cell…”

Sapnap’s already seen it for himself. George doesn’t have to finish the sentiment.

“I just,” George laughs once, “I can’t do it. I _know_ what it’s like in there. He showed me _exactly_ what he was going to do. I can’t, I can’t _see_ it. It’s all I can think about, but if I have to actually see him in those conditions, I don’t think I could ever sleep at night.” 

His eyelids feel heavy, as if Dream is trying to tell him he’s wrong.

“It’s okay that you’re not ready now,” Sapnap says gently. “I wasn’t ready. But you can wait. It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

“The longer I wait, the worse he’ll get.”

“Maybe.” Sapnap reaches out and rubs George’s arm. George turns his hand to hold Sapnap’s. “If you need to wait, then we wait.”

George nods, and Sapnap traces patterns against George’s arm as George rests his head on the pillows. He faintly hears Sapnap telling him to sleep, and then he does.

The fog fades in and out of his head, shadows of Dream and Sam and Sapnap clawing at the corners, Quackity reaching a hand out, rows of iron bars and shackles and the faint blue hue of obsidian.

His vision clears, and Dream is leading him somewhere.

It’s a clearing in the woods, a field of flowers, that Dream brings him to. They sit on a rock at the edge of the clearing under the canopy of wisterias, the sky fading from blue to a deep yellow as the sun sets. 

George is glad that he’s here.

But he doesn’t understand _why_.

 _“There was a village two miles east of here, once,”_ Dream tells him, _“most of their people were wiped out hundreds of years ago. And the remainder of them died more recently. Some say they encouraged the wrath of the gods by practicing dark magic, and that the gods finally finished the job.”_ His expression falls when he informs George, _“My parents were from there, I think. I can’t remember it too well.”_

George flinches, because coming from _Dream_ , those words mean a lot more than if someone else were to say them. _“Oh…”_ What else can George say? He isn’t very good with words.

_“It was a long time ago.”_

_You were there, though,_ George thinks.

They sit in silence for a while. This time, it’s George who breaks it. He asks Dream the same question that he had asked Sapnap the night Wilbur died. _“Who are you loyal to?”_

He isn’t sure why he asks. He just feels the need to.

Like Sapnap that night, he isn’t sure that Dream will answer him. He resigns himself to that notion, and prepares for the awkwardness that will follow. But when he turns to look at Dream, Dream is _already_ looking back at him. There’s something beautiful and graceful in the way Dream is sitting—one hand resting over his propped up leg, the other leg outstretched over the edge of the rock. Dream has always been elegant. It’s too different from George. He feels inadequate, sometimes.

This is far from the first time that George has thought of Dream as beautiful. But it is the first time that George is looking at Dream like this and thinks that there’s a possibility that Dream is looking back in the very same way. The very same light.

Dream doesn’t answer with words like Sapnap did. Instead he leans forward and kisses George gently. George freezes for a moment before his eyes close and his hand reaches upward to tangle itself in Dream’s shirt. He kisses back, craving more than just the physical feel of the kiss. It’s more than just that; it’s the way Dream’s hand rests against his neck, the noise of pleasure at the back of Dream’s throat, the way Dream’s body feels pressed against his.

For the first time, George doesn’t feel like the more human one.

Dream leans back, and cups George’s face with his hand. He stares into George’s eyes, and there’s so much emotion on his face that George wants to _cry._

But Dream, for all of the love in his expression right now, is incapable of _feeling_ love in the same way as George. George loves the way a human does. And Dream, though it causes George’s throat to burn and his chest to ache, does _not._

* * *

Sapnap brings three samples of blue paint so that they can look at the different shades on the walls of the house. They spend an hour moving all of the furniture from the side of the living room furthest from the door, which is without a window. They spend a solid twenty minutes making fun of each other for _both_ needing to use a stepping stool to put tape along the ceiling crown.

George is the first to grab a paint roller and paint a line of the first blue sample on the wall. “This is so weird,” he tells Sapnap.

“The color?”

“No I like the color, but _painting_. I don’t do this kind of stuff.”

“You don’t do _anything_ ,” Sapnap stresses.

George flicks his paint roller in Sapnap’s direction, and Sapnap yelps when flecks of paint land on his shirt. 

“Hey!”

George laughs, “Come on, help me!”

Sapnap grumbles something under his breath, then he crouches to pour the second blue sample into an empty tray. “Did you read Quackity’s letter?”

George thinks of the letter folded on his desk in his bedroom. “Yeah, I did,” he says. “He said he sent you one too. He’s coming back soon.”

“…Really?” Sapnap asks.

“I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Sapnap stands with the paint roller freshly covered in paint. “You should spend some time with him,” he tells George, and there’s hesitation in his voice. “I know you miss him.”

“You do too,” George says. When Sapnap doesn’t respond, he steps forward, “I know you want to see him badly. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. And I know he’ll want to see you and Karl.”

At the mention of Karl’s name, Sapnap’s shoulders slump, so George decides to leave it alone.

Once all three samples are on the wall, the two of them observe them side by side. “I like the second one,” George says. “It’s a little darker than the sky. I think the whole room would look good with it.”

“It’s a little _too_ dark,” Sapnap points out.

“Not all walls need to be _bland_. I like it.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes, “Well _I_ like the first one.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. It looks nice?”

George points at the second paint sample, “This is _perfect_.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Too bad, I want the second one,” George huffs. He leans down to put his paint roller back in its tray, but the roller hits the tray a little too hard, and paint splatters onto both Sapnap and George.

Sapnap quickly jumps back, yelling, “George!”

George might take him more seriously if there weren’t paint all over Sapnap’s nose and upper cheek. “Sorry, sorry!”

“How did it even splash that much?”

George laughs under his breath, and stops when Sapnap snaps his head in George’s direction. George holds his hands up in defence. “I said sorry!”

Sapnap looks at George’s hands, then grins. “Y’know, I thought you were exaggerating about being bad at this stuff, but _look_ at your hands dude.”

George turns his hands around and pauses. “Oh.” His hands are _covered_ with splatters and smudges of all three shades of blue paint. “Okay yeah, I need to get this off.”

“Are you seriously leaving me to clean this up?”

“I’m _not_ …I just so happen to be choosing this moment to go wash my hands.”

Sapnap curses at him a few more times, but lets George go to the kitchen sink.

The water takes a second to heat up, and the warmth of it makes George’s fingers stretch out fully, like the cold has kept them curled for so long that they’ve forgotten how to move properly.

He rubs soap against the splotches of paint on his skin. There’s a blue patch that crosses from his pinky to his ring finger, and the sight of it makes George pause.

And then he isn’t in the kitchen. The running water isn’t from a sink, it’s coming from outside, the water of a river. He’s standing and Dream is not even arms length away. If George reaches out, he might be able to—

His head feels heavier. George takes a second to realize he’s remembering a time that he wore a crown.

 _“I could take it away,”_ Dream warns. He’s wearing a mask, the haunting eyes of which are fixated on the crown that rests on George’s head. _“I have no intention of doing so now, but I can do it whenever I want. So be a good king.”_

 _“So I’m a figurehead?”_ George phrases it as a question, but they both know the answer.

Dream’s head tilts. _“You mean more than just that. Even if I’m the one who gave it to you, I respect the power you hold.”_

George hums to himself, then turns to face the throne. The throne is cut with intricate designs of redstone that blend into the metallic sheen of gold. George traces his hand along some of the designs on the armrest.

He’s feeling bold, now. Dream has a habit of doing that to him. 

George sits down on the throne that is now his. He sits upright, back straight as if a wire is strung through his spine and holds it in place, and rests his arms on the armrests. Dream stares at him silently and George tells him, _“Prove it.”_

There’s a pause, then a brief chuckle that’s more breath than laughter. But he steps forward until he’s standing at the foot of George’s throne. 

Then he kneels.

Dream's movements are graceful and refined as one of his knees touches the ground and his other leg braces his weight. He shifts his mask slightly, just enough to expose his mouth. Wordlessly, Dream takes George’s hand from the arm of the throne, and he brings it to his lips. He kisses the back of George’s palm, and then his lips drag down, lingering on the skin of George’s ring finger.

Dream’s lips are chapped and warm. The seconds pass—far too long to be a mere transaction of trust—and Dream doesn’t seem to want to part with George.

So George won’t let him. George doesn’t stop touching Dream’s skin as he turns his hand and splays his hand across Dream’s jaw and upper neck.

The smile etched into Dream’s mask stares back at George. George reaches one of his fingers out and his fingertip brushes against the edge of it. The texture is coarse, flecks of dirt nestled in the scratches it’s gained through the battles it’s seen.

George’s thumb slides under the edge of the mask and he hitches it up and to the side. Dream’s face slowly comes into view, every sharp angle, the freckles across the bridge of his nose, the rough scar across his temple, the flecks of blue in his sharp eyes that are the only vibrancy that George can see clearly.

 _“I am bound to the word of my king,”_ Dream whispers. A smirk tugs at the corner of Dream’s lips. _“Whatever that entails, Your Majesty.”_

His hand still itches where Dream had kissed it. 

George stares at the sink with wide eyes. He rubs his hands together harder, trying to get the paint off of his skin. When it doesn’t fade, he grabs the coarse sponge meant for dishes and scrubs at the paint that remains attached.

_“And if I asked you for the world?”_

The faucet creaks, the water drips slower and slower, and then the water stops running altogether.

_“I would give it to you.”_

“George?”

George hears Sapnap approach behind him, but the paint won’t _come off_ , and the blue is just all over the sponge now. The sink is covered in more paint than should be coming from just his hands. But still his hands are dripping with it.

Sapnap’s voice is a lot softer this time, even if it’s coming from right next to George. “Hey…”

It’s only when Sapnap touches George’s arm that George realizes that his hands are free of paint. He breathes, and the scent of rust fills his nose.

Sapnap reaches around George and though the water isn’t running anymore, he turns the knob until it’s off. His hands are so _gentle_ as they grab George’s and pull them out of the sink. George stares at his own skeletal hands, which are so small in Sapnap’s, frail and thin and _when did this start happening to him?_

His hands are bleeding. How did he not even _realize_ …?

“I’ll get some bandages,” Sapnap says. “And something to disinfect the…yeah.” He observes George’s hands. “It doesn’t look too bad, just the upper layer of skin for the most part.”

George nods numbly.

Sapnap runs to the bathroom to grab supplies. George just keeps staring at his hands. 

_“I am bound to the word of my king.”_

_Come back then_ , George thinks. His hands tremble. _Just come back to me…_

He’s silent all throughout Sapnap bandaging his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly: I definitely did not intend for there to be romantic tension between George and Sapnap because I ship Dreamnotfound and this fic is supposed to focus on Sapnap and George's platonic relationship, but here we are. Therefore, any odes to George's beauty are just me being a simp and it reflecting in my writing— This is still a DNF/platonic Georgenap fic. Maybe one day I'll write romantic Georgenap but that day is not today—
> 
> Secondly: I've been spending basically every day debating with myself if I wanted to keep the ending scene of this chapter in the fic, or if I wanted to write it out. Reason being, it's a very _ugly_ look at grief and definitely doesn't paint Sapnap and George in the best light. In the end I decided to leave it in, because this story is basically entirely about the ugly side of moving forward. (I also wanna point out that both c!Sapnap and c!George are unreliable narrators and have very opposing views of c!Dream, neither of which fully align with _my_ thoughts of him.)
> 
> Thirdly: All of that being said, there's a new tag for 'Minor Violence', and that tag is for this chapter specifically. The 'Mild Gore' tag also comes into play here. Please proceed with caution.

Sapnap receives Quackity’s letter.

It’s brief, and Sapnap can tell that it was written hastily. He can see where the lines of the words written are scratchy and messy. There are smudges of ink at the corners where it had been folded to fit into the envelope.

The time between now and the last time he’d seen Quackity is a larger gap than the last time he saw Dream. Sapnap doesn’t know where the ache in his heart ends for one and begins for the other.

_**‘Karl hasn’t responded to any of my letters’**_ Quackity had written. _**‘I don’t know if he knows I’m coming back.’**_

Sapnap hopes Karl knows. He hopes Karl shows up. Even if he opens the door for Quackity and not him, though it hurts to think that he just might, Sapnap will take it if it means knowing that he’s okay.

Part of making it through the past few weeks has meant that Sapnap needs to compartmentalize the pieces of his life. There’s before and after Deam’s imprisonment. There’s before and after George’s reign. There’s blaze floating above his head and Bad pulling him through a Nether portal with a promise that Sapnap won’t be left behind again.

There’s Tommy and Tubbo, discs and crowns, a lead in his hands as he pulls Henry through the grass.

And there are the things that can’t possibly fit into a category of allies and enemies.

Sapnap mouths the words of Quackity’s letter like he’s reciting scripture. _**‘I’ll be with you soon.’**_ He _clings_ to the idea of it, of being with Quackity again, of tearing down the door to Karl’s library and feeling just a little bit closer to being _whole._

The days pass and George spends every minute of daylight outside. He walks off into the forest and doesn’t come back until the sun sets. Sapnap doesn’t know where he goes or what he’s doing, he just considers himself lucky that George actually comes back.

Sometimes it feels like he might not. George is drifting farther and farther away from him, and Sapnap thinks that if that distance grows any larger, he won’t be able to reel George in.

The living room remains unpainted and the furniture is still pushed away from the walls. Sapnap can barely look at the blue paint without seeing George’s blood run down the kitchen drain.

It rains for three days, and the day Quackity arrives, it stops.

George seems livelier now than he has in a while. There’s a bounce to his steps and a lift in his voice. He even puts effort into eating a proper meal for breakfast before they go to see Quackity.

They meet at the community house. Sapnap isn’t sure if the quickening beat of his heart is due to seeing Quackity’s face again, or if it’s because he’s standing in the ruins of a place that carries so many painful memories. 

Quackity is standing under the fractured doorway that faces the Nether portal. When he turns to look in their direction, Sapnap sees the way he grins at the sight of George running up to him. 

Sapnap half expects them to start making fun of each other. But despite Quackity’s grin, he looks _tired_ , more serious than he was when he’d left. It reminds Sapnap of the way Quackity looked when he followed closely behind Schlatt, three paces behind him at all times.

Quackity knows where to draw the line. He hasn’t seen George in weeks, but Quackity sees the lines written all over George. 

The two of them spend three hours together, just talking to each other. Sapnap leaves them at the Nether portal and goes to Karl’s library again, to give George and Quackity space.

He knows Karl’s inside. But the door remains shut between them. 

Sapnap touches the faded wood of it. “Quackity’s back,” he says. Even if Karl were standing right on the other side of the door, he probably wouldn’t be able to hear him. But no matter how far the wind carries his words, he continues. “He’s back, and he’s _alive_. You should see him, even if you don’t wanna see _me_. He isn’t staying for very long.”

There’d been a time, back when it was just Sapnap Dream and George, back when Sapnap was the only one of them that wasn’t fully human, that the three of them thought they’d always been invincible.

The irony of it is that they’d been their most vulnerable. Staying up at night to fight monsters for supplies, jumping over lava in the basalt deltas of the Nether, digging straight down into ravines. Sapnap had arrived to his best friends making a home in a barren land, and they built a kingdom from the ground up.

Sapnap thinks of this now, because there’s a clear division in the people that mean something to him: Dream and George, Quackity and Karl.

His best friends and his lovers. Two of them are locked somewhere that Sapnap can’t quite reach, and the other two are running from a monster that Sapnap can’t defeat.

Sapnap presses his forehead against the door and closes his eyes. “Karl… _please_ , at least let me know you’re there.”

“Talking to inanimate objects again?”

Quackity’s voice comes from somewhere behind him. It’s gravelly, hoarse from disuse, and it’s the best fucking thing Sapnap’s ever heard.

Sapnap smiles despite himself. “‘Again’, what does _that_ mean?” When he turns to look at Quackity, the words he wants to say become lodged in his throat.

But Quackity doesn’t need him to say anything. He just grabs Sapnap’s hand, and it’s the closest Sapnap has felt to _anything_ in a very long time. 

“How are you holding up?” Quackity asks him.

There are so many places Sapnap could start, with that one. But he doesn’t want to start with himself. He isn’t sure if he’s ready for that, yet. “I’m just…trying,” he says.

Quackity nods, understanding in his eyes. “And George? He told me he’s okay, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that he’s a liar.”

It pulls a smile from Sapnap, but he feels his shoulders slump and everything just feels _heavy_. “He hates that Dream’s in prison. And he blames me.”

“If he really blamed you, he wouldn’t stay with you.” Quackity doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest when he says, “Dream had it coming.”

“I don’t disagree,” Sapnap says. “He just couldn’t let it go. He wanted control and he hurt people to keep it.”

Quackity leans on one of the slabs of spruce next to the door. “He hurt _George_ ,” Quackity says. He looks to the side, somewhere far past Sapnap, and it takes a second for Sapnap to realize that he’s looking in the general direction of Eret’s palace. “It doesn’t fucking matter if he said it was to protect George, Dream fucking hurt him.”

“I don’t know if George sees it that way.” Sapnap tries to shake his thoughts into a more coherent phrasing. “I mean, yeah he understands that Dream hurt him. But I guess he still cares about Dream more than he hates him. George thinks he _needs_ Dream. This separation is destroying him.”

There’s a darkness in Quackity’s eyes that Sapnap can’t quite place, a shadow of Schlatt looming over them. Sapnap doesn’t have any means of comforting Quackity. Schlatt is one area of Quackity’s life that Sapnap isn’t allowed to touch.

“Dream never deserved George,” Sapnap says.

“‘Doesn’t’,” Quackity tells him, and when Sapnap looks at him, Quackity elaborates, “he _doesn’t_ deserve George. I think the present tense is important here. Whether we like it or not, Dream still _has_ George.”

Sapnap hates that Quackity is right.

Everything in this world is a manifestation of Dream clinging to George, refusing to let George forget him, Dream’s madness tearing away what little humanity he has left just so that George can cope with _losing_ him. 

Sapnap wonders if the world loves George, or if it hates him.

“I was going to kill him.” Quackity’s voice is strained. “We were going to kill him, but it had to be my hand. I wanted him _dead_. I still fucking do.”

Sapnap doesn’t know what to say to that. In a lot of ways, he agrees with Quackity. But in a lot of others, he’s certain that Dream’s death will kill George too. Maybe not physically. But George is already dying, by his hand or by Dream’s, neither of them willing to let go of each other. Even in El Rapids, Dream’s increasingly omnipresent existence became something of a crutch for George.

But not Sapnap. Sapnap refuses to believe that he needs Dream the way George does. Sapnap had made the choice, over and over, and in the end he chose to lock Dream up.

The thing is, Dream had made choices too. And over and over again, as Sapnap didn’t choose Dream, Dream didn’t choose Sapnap either.

“You could’ve died trying,” Sapnap tells Quackity.

It’s written all over his expression, the way that Quackity knows that Sapnap is right. “Then I would’ve died trying,” Quackity says, “if there was even a small chance of getting rid of him.”

“Do you think we should’ve killed him instead of putting him in prison?”

Quackity thinks it over for a moment. “I don’t know. We might need him. But Dream’s never gonna give up. As long as he’s alive, I’m fucking terrified.”

If only Sapnap could say that he wasn’t scared too. George has no reason to be. Sapnap does.

Sapnap laces his fingers through Quackity’s again. Quackity’s hands aren’t as grounding as they used to be. There’s a lot they need to work through that doesn’t involve Dream or George or war. But until Karl’s with them, they do what they can, so they sit and watch the land in silence.

Time passes and it’s almost sunset when the sound of creaking wood comes from inside the house. Sapnap and Quackity look at it in unison, then look at each other.

Quackity’s voice is almost hopeful when he calls out slowly, “Karl?”

There aren’t any words from inside, but there’s a light _thump_ , and then the door slightly shifts like someone’s leaning against it.

It’s the closest the three of them have been to each other.

This time it’s Quackity who leans his forehead against the door, and there’s a thin layer of tears in his eyes. “Karl?” he echoes Sapnap, and Sapnap wishes he could give all three of them a happier story. “Look, you don’t have to—you don’t have to open the door or anything. I just need to know if you’re _okay_.”

From this angle, Sapnap’s clearest view of Quackity is his profile. His skin has an almost iridescent golden sheen where the sunlight touches it. The strands of dark hair that are visible from under his hat look unkempt, like putting his beanie on is the only thing he does to maintain his hair. 

Most prominent from this angle is the scar across Quackity’s eye. It’s vertical, harsh, _violent_. The scar is dark and irritated, contrasting against the tan of his skin. Every time he blinks, Sapnap sees how his eyelid still doesn’t quite close properly. There are even flecks of silver and black in Quackity’s eye now, remnants of Netherite.

Quackity sees Sapnap observing the scar, and he laughs half-heartedly. “My vision is still shit in that eye,” he says. “It fucks with my depth perception, but I think I’m getting used to it.”

Sapnap opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t. He just closes it and nods. Quackity must see whatever grim expression Sapnap has now, because he turns back into the door and the smile fades from his face.

Without even realizing what he’s doing, Sapnap leans forward and gently kisses the scar on Quackity’s eye. He pulls Quackity in by the shoulders, twisting him so that they’re facing each other, and Sapnap mutters a quick, “Sorry,” before leaning back.

Quackity doesn’t quite let him, though. His hand quickly finds one of Sapnap’s, the one holding Quackity’s shoulder, and Quackity holds it there. Sapnap only leans back a few inches before he hesitates. 

It had taken a _lot_ of work to get Quackity comfortable with being physically affectionate with Sapnap and Karl. Sapnap never hated them for it, never saw it as a burden. Quackity doesn’t talk about Schlatt in any serious manner. But Sapnap sees Schlatt’s influence in everything Quackity does, both good and bad.

Quackity had eaten Schlatt’s heart and laughed. Sapnap figures he’d earned the right. He won’t question it, because questioning it means knowing what Schlatt did on a very intimate level, and Sapnap doesn’t want to think about how he’d followed Dream’s lead and fought _for_ Schlatt that day.

So for Quackity to be the one to pull him in first is a huge step.

He doesn’t kiss Sapnap, and Sapnap doesn’t mind that. Quackity’s fingertips ghost over Sapnap’s hand. His scar is vibrant, a painful reminder that he only has one life left, and maybe they _do_ need Dream. 

(If Quackity or Karl dies, Sapnap will break the prison open himself so Dream can bring them back. He _would_ add George to that list, but he doesn’t need to. Dream would do it himself. If he’d even _let_ George die.)

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” Quackity murmurs.

Sapnap doesn’t know if Quackity is talking about distance in a physical way or in an emotional one. He just nods though, because it hardly matters to him. “I don’t care,” he says truthfully. “As long as you’re okay.”

“I think I’ll stay for longer than I planned,” Quackity leans back, though his hand is slow in letting Sapnap go. “I liked seeing George.”

“Aw, not me?”

He’s expecting Quackity to carry the joke and agree, to say that he hates Sapnap’s guts, but Quackity’s eyes are serious as he says, “Yes, you too. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Sapnap wants to pull Quackity into his arms, to reach through the door and pull Karl in as well, but he doesn’t. He just tries to push past the ache in his throat. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Idiot.” Quackity’s smile actually reaches his eyes this time. “I can’t leave without seeing Karl at least once.” He turns into the door, “Hear that, Karl? The longer you stay locked up in there, the more time I get with Sapnap and not with you.”

“The sooner you open the door, the sooner he can abandon _both_ of us,” Sapnap follows. Quackity flips him off.

“Dumbass.”

“Sorry, sorry,”

The two of them are laughing, and it’s _messed up_ that they find abandonment funny given Dream and Schlatt and the ruins of L’Manberg, but they’re already too far gone.

“I’ll always come back,” Quackity says once they’ve quieted down. “I’ve gotta start planning our wedding at some point, right?”

Sapnap hates the way it _instantly_ brightens everything up for him. “I call having George as my best man.”

“ _Fuck_ no, he’s mine.”

From the other side of the door, a tired voice grumbles, “Are you guys _seriously_ fighting over _George_?”

Sapnap and Quackity are far too happy to hear Karl’s voice, and the conversation drops as Karl opens the door.

* * *

George isn’t home when Sapnap gets there. It’s nearly sunset though, so it shouldn’t be much longer until he shows up. 

There’s more firewood gathered outside the front door than there had been what Sapnap left the house earlier in the day. He _might_ believe that it’s George’s doing, but the lavenders that grow between the logs and the ground suggest otherwise.

By the time George walks through the door, the fireplace is lit and Sapnap has already begun clearing out the armoire. The radio is playing something quietly in the background, but Sapnap has long since stopped paying attention to the music.

George scoffs when he sees Sapnap on the ground, surrounded by piles of books and unused paper. “Spring cleaning?”

“Well _someone_ has to do it,” Sapnap says. “Where’ve you been?”

George shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and his voice is a little bit _too_ steady. “I was looking at flowers. In the forest.”

It’s winter, all of the flowers should be dead, and the only ones that aren’t are products of Dream’s magic.

Whatever the fuck his magic is.

“I can help,” George offers, shrugging his coat off and draping it over the back of a chair. “You wanna move the armoire?”

Sapnap nods, “That’s the plan. This wall is the longest, so I was thinking we could paint it first.”

George kneels next to Sapnap and looks over a pile of books. “Since when do we have so much stuff on botany and agriculture?”

“I honestly have no clue.”

George pulls one of the books out of the armoire and holds it up for Sapnap to read. “‘Underwater basket weaving’?”

Sapnap tries to hold back a laugh, “What the fuck?”

“I’m betting this was yours.”

“It was _not_.”

George puts the book to the side and leans into the armoire to pull open one of the bottom drawers. Sapnap keeps sorting through the pile of paper to see what’s written on and what’s clear.

Next to him, George goes still, and Sapnap looks over to see that the drawer holds a number of discs.

Sapnap _really_ tries not to focus too much on what discs mean to them now. He and George are both silent as George slowly picks the discs up one by one. There’s one disc that he lingers on. Sapnap can’t see the words too clearly, but he sees that the ring in the center is purple.

George puts that disc down too, too quickly, and puts another disc on top of it. “I’ll get this stuff to the spare room. We can use it for storage for now.” He picks up the pile of discs and leaves.

It’s moments like these, when George is within arms reach but feels so _far_ , that Sapnap can’t stand. 

But George comes back. It’s wishful thinking to call it progress, but he didn’t shut himself in his room, and maybe there’s a flicker of hope.

The two of them clear out the rest of the armoire together. George tucks a book to the side and Sapnap decides to pretend he doesn’t notice when George hides it under the couch. And when that’s done, they work together to push the armoire up against the adjacent wall. It leaves a large empty space in the middle of the living room, occupied only by the dark rug that they _really_ need to get rid of.

George lets go of his side the second the armoire is secure and won’t fall over, and his cheeks are flushed with effort. “It’s empty and still so _heavy_ ,” George complains, and Sapnap laughs at him. George steps back into the new empty space. “I didn’t realize how much room we could have here.”

“Well all of our furniture is up against each other,” Sapnap points out. “Kind of inconvenient.”

“ _You’re_ inconvenient,” George mutters.

Sapnap blinks, “What does that even _mean_ —?”

“I don’t _know_ —stop laughing!” Sapnap doesn’t stop, but George doesn’t look seriously upset, so he doubts he actually cares. 

Sapnap just checks again that the armoire is stable, because if it falls it won’t be funny in the slightest, and when he turns back, George’s arms are outstretched and he spins once in the middle of the carpet. 

Sapnap watches in silence. Neither of them have touched the radio so the volume is still low, but George is swaying to the beat of the music. His arms curl in around himself so that he’s hugging his shoulders, and his eyes are distant. Like he’s not really here. Like he’s off, far away, or maybe far back. Lost in a memory.

None of them can dance all that well—Quackity will never forgive Sapnap and Karl for the embarrassment that was the last karaoke night they had in which Sapnap and Karl danced _horribly_ —but Sapnap remembers that George and Dream used to dance together sometimes.

There’s something haunting across George’s face. A look of longing that Sapnap recognizes so clearly because he sees it every time he looks into a mirror.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s stepped forward until he reaches out and pulls George’s hand from his shoulder. George’s eyes aren’t as cloudy anymore as his head turns to Sapnap. Sapnap gently pulls George’s arm towards him, turning George to face him, drawing him in.

The music is slow, Sapnap can hear the pluck of a string instrument, piano keys, lyrics that he can’t quite make out but the singer’s voice is deep and comforting. The tension leaves George’s body as the two of them rock back and forth, moving to music that they can barely hear, a chorus that makes them feel less alone.

The lack of space between them makes Sapnap remember that he and George are practically the same height. George’s hand is cold in his, and he looks a little more relaxed when they step apart, and Sapnap spins George closer to him again. It’s a little more awkward when George does it to _Sapnap_. Sapnap’s shoulders are broader and it isn’t as swift of a motion. George smiles through it though, giggling softly, and Sapnap just about stops breathing at the sound of it.

George is less than a foot away from him, one hand holding Sapnap’s, the other resting on the curve of his neck. 

_“To only be hurt at the hands of someone who loves you.”_

Sapnap’s hand is at George’s waist, guiding the two of them through the rhythm of the music, the chords of the music and the hum of the words being sung, whatever words they are.

_“I’m telling you this because I trust you two.”_

Even when Dream isn’t here, Sapnap can almost _see_ him, standing at their side, hands on George’s arms or cradling his face. A parasite feeding off of everything Sapnap and George have to give and everything they won’t.

Fire burns under Sapnap’s skin. George’s grip tightens, and he calls out softly, “Sapnap?”

_“One big happy family, is that right?”_

The song changes. Sapnap lowers his arms, the hand holding his falls too. “You look tired again,” Sapnap says. He doesn’t say that he feels like he’s trespassing on something by dancing with George. There’s an unsettling feeling in his something, like he’s stepped on an ancient burial ground, defiled something sacred.

One step forward, two steps back. Only so many steps have been taken and undone that Sapnap can’t catch up anymore. He’s done what Dream asked. He’s taken care of George. Even if Dream hadn’t asked him to, he would’ve done it because George is his friend, and Sapnap can’t abandon him now, no matter how convinced Dream’s been that Sapnap wants them split up.

_“You’re purposefully trying to divide us.”_

George’s eyes aren’t as intense as they used to be. They’re dark brown, almost black, but there’s a hint of color that Sapnap sees when he looks closer. Like strands of dark roots sewn into rich soil; hickory wood stained with chocolate. There’s an intelligence in them that Sapnap isn’t used to. Something that isn’t usual, and rather very _regal_. But there’s also something dark, worn, life draining out of him every moment he stays awake.

“I’m not sleepy,” George tells him. 

“Either you get too much sleep or not enough,” Sapnap sighs, “come on, we can finish this stuff tomorrow okay?”

George doesn’t protest. Their hands are still linked and the radio still playing music makes Sapnap think of the days he used to play the violin, drawing a bow across the strings while Bad helped him write notes down in blank sheet music.

He burned his violin a long time ago.

There’s a second—just a single second—when the morbid thought crosses his mind and he wonders what else he could burn.

George settles under sheets that belonged to Dream once, and Sapnap wishes he could burn it all, burn the house and the forest and even the prison down to the _fucking ground_.

“Can you stay with me?” George asks, just like he had days ago, and Sapnap remembers why he _doesn’t_ start fires with his hands anymore.

Unlike last time, Sapnap nods. “Okay,” he says, and the fire grows and grows and Sapnap wishes it would just kill him already, because controlling fire doesn’t always mean that it doesn’t hurt him. In truth, fire hurts him more than water does. He isn’t fully blaze, after all.

The blankets feel cold around him, and Sapnap remembers that enough ice feels like fire too.

* * *

Sapnap has plans with Quackity and Karl to spend the day together. Quackity isn’t sure how long he’s staying anymore, and now that Karl’s out of his library, the three of them are nothing short of desperate to just spend time with each other again. All three of them, no one missing.

He gets to Karl’s library, and this time when he knocks on the door, Karl opens it.

Karl hugs him before the door finishes closing behind them. “Hey,” Karl says, voice partially muffled by Sapnap’s shirt. 

Sapnap presses a kiss to the side of Karl’s head. “Hey. Did you sleep well?”

The bags under Karl’s eyes say everything, but Karl frowns. “Not sure. I barely realized I got up anyways.”

Sapnap looks past Karl. “Quackity isn’t here yet?”

Karl shrugs. “He went to say hi to Tommy.” Karl sits on his desk, swinging his legs back and forth. 

“He better get here on time.”

“Meh. Doesn’t matter much. Don’t need him.”

Sapnap looks at Karl pointedly. 

“Anyways, I’m thinking about moving my library,” Karl shifts the topic. “Not sure where yet, but I wanna.”

Before Sapnap can say anything, the door opens, and Quackity steps through.

Sapnap turns to Quackity, and the smile quickly fades from his face when he sees Quackity’s grim expression.

Karl voices it first, “What happened?”

Quackity doesn’t direct his response at Karl, rather turning to Sapnap with mild panic. “Sam’s looking for George.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

Karl closes his eyes tightly and turns away from them. Quackity glances outside quickly, then curses under his breath. “I think he tried something at the prison again, I don’t fucking know. He didn’t exactly look like he was in the mood to stop and chat about it.”

“Where’s George?” Karl asks.

“At our place. Where’s Sam right now?”

Quackity just shakes his head, and Sapnap turns for the door. He can hear the two of them calling out to him, but he’ll just have to worry about what to tell them later. He hopes they’ll understand. Quackity definitely does, he wouldn’t tell Sapnap if it were any different.

Sapnap runs all the way back to the house and doesn’t stop once. He’s gasping for air when he finally reaches, needing to take a moment to stop and hold the frame of the door before he can unlock it and open it.

“Are you fucking insane?” he exclaims the second he steps through the door. George is rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, and he jumps at the sound of Sapnap’s voice.

“What?”

Now that he can see that George is safe in front of him, it feels okay to be angry. “You tried to break into the prison again?”

George freezes.

Sapnap slams the door behind him, and George flinches. “How fucking _stupid_ are you?” Sapnap yells. George has the nerve to look pissed at _Sapnap_ for the phrasing of it. “Sam is looking for you! He barely let it slide the first time!”

“I don’t need you worrying over it,” George snaps. “I’m _fine_ , I can handle myself. Sam won’t _kill me_.”

“Have you even met him? Fuck it, forget that, why would you even _try_?”

George shuts the cabinet and glares at Sapnap with utter fury. “Why _else_ would I try breaking in?”

“You _told me_ that he showed you his plans for the prison!” Sapnap yells. He feels like tearing his hair out, and almost stops to do just that, but the words just pour out. “You _know_ it’s inescapable. What the fuck makes you think you could break into it?”

“It happened already, it’s over! Okay? Just drop it.” George turns away from Sapnap, more intent on ending the conversation than explaining anything to Sapnap.

Both of them are silent for a moment. Sapnap’s heart is still easing from the run here, but it quickens when he ponders the way George wants to turn away from this. 

It takes a second for the realization to dawn on Sapnap. George has always turned back to Dream no matter how much Dream hurts him, after all. And George has always been certain of one thing: Dream loves him. George isn’t ignorant to it. He doesn’t have any reason to be.

“You _know_ you can’t break him out,” Sapnap says. “But if Sam thinks you’re trying…if Sam’s looking at you—”

“Stop—”

“—then he can’t look at _Dream_ , and Dream can break _himself_ out.”

George doesn’t say anything.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Sapnap’s voice cracks at the end, and his skin boils. “Even now, after everything he did to you, you _still_ want him free?”

“I don’t _care_ about what he did,” George’s words are like a hiss. “Everyone is so quick to talk about how awful he is, but he isn’t! Dream did shitty things but all of us did!”

Sapnap is fairly certain that his eyes are glowing now, but he has no way of knowing. At this rate, opening his mouth is going to result in spewing fire, and George can’t be caught in the crossfire of it. “You think I don’t _know_ that? I think about all of the shit I did _every day_! And I’m never gonna fucking forgive myself for it, George. But at least I _know_!”

George gestures to everything around them. “Know _what_? You never even _tried_ to see things our way! Every chance you got, you fought with other people. Tommy’s discs, L’Manberg—”

“I fucking fought with Dream for _Schlatt_! We knew what he was like and we still did it!” Sapnap crosses over to the living room now, and George’s eyes fill with fear and panic. Sapnap angrily reaches under the couch and pulls out the book George had hidden earlier. “And for what? For Dream to get something out of it? A fucking necromancy book?”

George lunges forward and snatches the book from Sapnap’s hands. “He asked me to protect it,” George says.

Sapnap laughs cynically. “Of _course_ he fucking did.” George rests the book on the counter. He’s trembling, in grief or in anger, Sapnap isn’t sure. “Of _course_ you had it the whole fucking time.”

“It was the only thing that kept him alive.” George flicks through the pages with a recognition that tells Sapnap he’s studied it a thousand times, and Sapnap can see flashes of Dream’s handwriting in the margins of paragraphs and diagrams in a language Sapnap can’t read.

“When did he even give it to you?” Sapnap asks sourly.

George’s voice is hollow. “He told me I’d always been good with words. He asked me to keep his safe.” Sapnap smooths his hands over the surface of the leather bound book that sits between them. He wants to grab the book and hide it in an Ender Chest so that Dream has nothing to hang over their heads anymore. He wants George and Dream to let each other go.

He wants to reach out, but George isn’t familiar to him anymore. He isn’t familiar to himself, anymore.

“It figures, I guess,” Sapnap says. His voice is acidic in his ears. “Dream gave all of it for this, and I risked my life for two _monsters_!”

“Dream isn’t a monster!” George is angrier than Sapnap has ever seen him. But it’s too late to go back from this. “What has he done that’s worth being considered that? Nothing!”

“I could’ve looked past Wilbur’s revolution, but blowing up L’Manberg? Exiling Tommy? Who knows what Dream did to the poor fucking kid, I knew where Tommy was and I should’ve brought Tommy somewhere safe the second I thought something was wrong, but I trusted Dream! He played all of us!”

George’s face is twisted into something _cruel_. “Exiling Tommy was L’Manberg’s doing, not Dream’s—”

“They only did it because Dream made them! He would’ve declared war otherwise! I don’t know everything that happened during Tommy’s exile but we’ve seen what it did to him!”

“Why should I _care_ about Tommy?”

Sapnap remembers the Axe of Peace slicing through Dream’s skull twice, blood splattering on the blackstone ground, Tommy’s hands shaking and his eyes full of wrath. “He can kill Dream!” Sapnap yells, and George’s mouth shuts. “Fucking _think_ about it, George. Dream said he can only die if someone who _loves him_ does it. That’s what _he_ said! That means either Dream _lied_ to us, or he screwed with Tommy’s head so much that he still thought Dream was his _friend_ when he killed him _twice_!”

The words stun George, and George grabs the book and turns to storm out of the kitchen. 

Sapnap reaches out and grabs George’s wrist. He isn’t gentle with George like he usually is, his grip is _tight_ and _bruising_ and Sapnap can’t bring himself to care. “No. You don’t get to just _walk away_ from this. Dream did this and you can’t pretend that he didn’t!”

“That doesn’t mean he deserves the prison!” George tears his wrist from Sapnap’s hand and the book thuds to the floor. Sapnap sees that George’s skin is red, almost _burned_. “He’s being starved and kept in complete isolation! That cell is designed to feel like being burned _alive_ , that’s why it’s surrounded by _lava_! It’s physical and psychological _torture_!”

“He deserves to be in there for what he did!”

“No one deserves _that_!” George sounds _desperate_ now, like he wants nothing more than for Sapnap to understand him. He rubs at his wrist and Sapnap wants to ask if he’s okay, if Sapnap genuinely hurt him, but George doesn’t let him. “Prison is supposed to stop people from committing more _crimes_ , not punish them for the things that they did!”

“Then take it up with Sam! But don’t try to help him escape!”

George’s words are unwavering, “I will _never_ stop trying to help him escape!”

Sapnap grinds his teeth together, “George—”

“I _need_ him, okay?!”

And that, _right there_ , is the very thing that Sapnap’s known this entire time, but it’s still jarring to hear George actually say it.

It’s the thing that Sapnap’s been terrified that he’s right about.

He thinks about that old saying, about there being a fine line between love and hate. Sapnap used to read stories about people teasing their friends, pushing the love interests of a story closer to each other, coaxing a confession under the guise of their hatred being a medium for expressing their love.

But no one ever says it when someone _loves_ someone else. Sapnap gave Dream everything, and he’s still devoting his life to Dream’s greatest treasure. Sapnap _adored_ Dream. And now… 

He hates being right. He hates everything about this. He hates George, hates Dream, hates Sam and Tommy and Tubbo and _just hates everything_.

“You don’t,” Sapnap says, and he isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince George or himself. “You don’t _need_ him.”

“I do,” George insists.

“Fuck— _George_ ,” this time Sapnap genuinely pulls at the strands of his hair that fall over his bandana, “Everything he fucking did—”

“I already _told you_ —”

“And he did it for you!” Sapnap yells.

George cuts him off again. Not with words, this time, but rather with a harsh slap. Sapnap’s head _snaps_ to the side as a sharp sting explodes across his cheek. One of George’s nails scrapes his cheek and his face explodes with pain.

Sapnap doesn’t look at him at first, his eyes are still wide with shock and his head is still turned to the side. He slowly reaches up to cradle his cheek.

At the very least, George sounds stricken when he speaks. “You don’t—you don’t get to fucking _do that_.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Sapnap sees the red of George’s wrist, and he wonders if his cheek is the same color as the burn he’d given George. “I didn’t _ask_ Dream for any of it. I didn’t—” George stops mid sentence, and he steps away until his back hits the counter.

Sapnap looks at him then, and George looks _horrified_. “Sapnap, I’m—”

“Don’t,” Sapnap shakes his head, still covering his cheek so George doesn’t have to look at it, “I hurt you first.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” George’s voice is barely above the volume of a whisper. When he looks at Sapnap, his eyes are drier than Sapnap’s, and Sapnap wonders when was the last time he saw George cry.

George doesn’t stop Sapnap from walking away. Once George can’t see his face anymore, Sapnap uncovers his cheek. 

He isn’t mad at George the way he probably should be. He just keeps seeing George’s burned wrist every time he closes his eyes. From the hallway, Sapnap can hear the water turn on, probably George running cold water over his wrist. 

Sapnap goes outside. It’s raining, though it wasn’t earlier. 

_Are you crying for him, Dream?_ Sapnap wonders. _Is this how you mourn him? George doesn’t cry, so you cry for him?_

Sapnap’s anger finally boils over, an explosion he’s kept holed up in the hollow cavity of his heart, something dark and ugly and _rabid_ claws its way out of him.

Fire engulfs both of his hands, flames licking his skin as the rain does its best to extinguish them, and it just makes the flames grow larger. Sapnap pulls a fist back, screams, and punches the back of a tree. The branches above him shake, remnants of dead leaves and sticks falling to the ground. 

He does it again and again, punching the trunk until his knuckles are covered in blood, and the fire would spread up the tree and through the forest if it weren’t raining.

The water under his feet is red, and Sapnap keeps punching the tree until he can’t feel his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has watched the Harry Potter movies, the entire scene with George and Sapnap dancing was actually based off of the scene in Deathly Hallows part one, where Harry and Hermione dance with each other following Ron leaving them. I was watching the movies recently and that scene actually inspired this entire fic. So you have that scene to thank! (Not JKR though. Fuck her.)


End file.
